The fictional F1 media? (Part 4)

As I entered the conference room for my weekly meeting with my mysterious editor, I noticed something unusual. Yes----seated next to my boss was a hunched figure in a dark trench coat and a hat that shaded much of his face. Wanting to seem polite, I introduced myself and reached out for a handshake, but elicited no response from the visitor. My editor said, "Don't bother. He doesn't talk." He motioned me to sit.

Strange. Who could this be? At first, I thought this might be the Stig, but then I remembered that the black Stig had died a while ago. Then, I wondered if the man behind the shades could be our mythical informant who might have more information about Max Mosley's private life.

"Checkpoint 10, I'd like you to meet Piero. He is our hired assassin."

I flinched. Who did we hire now? How is this related to journalism? Am I in danger? Sensing my concern, my editor said, "Relax. He is a character assassin. He only deals damage with words. Piero, show him what you have produced."

Piero handed me an index card with some typewritten text. I read silently, then aloud, "'Look how bad you are.'" It took me a second to comprehend the full meaning of those words. Then I muttered, "You didn't come up with that..."

Piero nodded. I protested, "This... punning, it is beneath our esteemed publication! You'd expect this from The Sun, but we can't let this kind of rubbish get into serious discourse! Sir, you trained me to be better than this!" I demanded an explanation.

Dramatically, my editor said, "It is time for you to learn the full power of the media. Piero has very extensive training in the Dark side of the English language from Fox News in America. He can help us achieve our mission..."

"To bring the masses fair and enlightened journalism?" I asked, somewhat doubtfully now.

"No, my young writer," said my blurry editor. "Clearly, you have much to learn. Allow me to explain our real purpose." As soon as he said this, I stood up and excused myself for a minute. It is a tradition of mine to bring in a can of soda and a bowl of peanuts before listening to the editor's long-winded revelations about Formula 1 or the F1 media.

When I came back into the room, both of them were still sitting there, like dogs that have been commanded to stay. I leaned back in my chair and said, "Shoot."

I was treated to a story of how the Formula 1 media's true objective is to control the sport via control of the public discourse. All very run-of-the-mill, we're-going-to-take-over-the-world kind of stuff, but that didn't quite answer my question. So I spoke up.

"Why do you hate Luca Badoer?"

Clearly, neither my editor nor Piero expected that question.

"We're not going to get into that. The important thing is that, by suggesting there is pressure to remove Badoer, even naming potential replacements, we're going to make Ferrari..."

"Answer my question!" I insisted. "Why do you hate a guy who's never had a good ride, who worked his ass off at Ferrari for the last decade for little or no recognition, who's been victimized by the 'no testing' rule in recent years? Who has richly deserved a real opportunity to achieve a World Championship point that has tragically eluded him during the 1990s? The man who broke down in tears when his Minardi failed en route to a 4th place finish! Why don't you have any sympathy for him? Have you no heart?"

I found myself screaming at the top of my lungs. "You Grinch! You heckler! You..." I was momentarily out of analogies.

"Calm down, my young friend. After the disappointment with Schumacher, it's going to great if Giancarlo Fisichella can score..."

"With all due respect, Giancarlo has won three races. He's scored 275 points. He doesn't need to prove anything. Neither does Schumacher. But Luca does. And you ruined the chance of a lifetime for him and for the sport!" I was furious. I felt like I was defending a helpless kid from a playground bully. I added, "If you don't give me an honest answer about what you have against Luca Badoer, I shall walk away from these premises and never return."

To show how serious I was, I logged onto Checkpoint 10 and put my mouse over the "Delete blog" link. "I'm going to do it, man!"

My senior journalist said, "Okay! Okay! I will tell you." (I thought, 'Whew! That was an easy bluff to pull off.')

"Well," said the boss. "I'm jealous of Luca."

Still holding my mouse in position, I said, "Go on..."

"I'm jealous of, well, all race car drivers, actually. Button, Badoer, Hamilton, everyone. I mean, you wanted to be a race car driver, too, didn't you? But you ended up working here. Just once in a while, it's nice to see one of them... how to say it... brought down to earth."

"So, you enjoy destroying them. Rather, you enjoy building them up and then destroying them."

"You might call it that."

"Well, I'm no coward like you." I pushed the button. The jaws drop on both my editor and Piero.

"Excuse me. I have something to take care of." I left both of them in the conference room, speechless. Within hours, a representative of the mainstream media was going to ask Stefano Domenicali: "In various areas of the international media, Luca Badoer has picked up the cruel nickname 'Look How Bad You Are'. How embarrassing is that for the Ferrari brand and also for yourself?"

I wasn't going to have any part of it. I was going to be on the phone with Google to get my blog restored.

(This is a work of fiction. See also: Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3)